Over the past 24 hours, I’ve felt a familiar shadow creep back into my life. Old habits—those little escapes I thought I’d left behind—have resurfaced. I skipped the gym again, my body and mind dragging their feet, and that once-powerful idea of "building a temple for the Holy Spirit" (1 Corinthians 6:19) just didn’t stir me like it used to. Even my prayer life faltered; I caught myself half-heartedly listening to the Divine Mercy prayer instead of speaking it aloud with intention. At first, I spiralled. I felt like a failure, like God had turned His back on me, leaving me to flounder alone in the mess of my own making. But as I sat with these feelings, something shifted. What if this heaviness isn’t abandonment? What if it’s something more—a chance to grow?
This, I’ve come to see, is what St. Ignatius of Loyola calls spiritual desolation. It’s a term I stumbled across in his Spiritual Exercises, and it’s been rattling around in my head ever since. I want to share this with you—not as someone who’s got it all figured out, but as someone walking the same winding path of faith, tripping over the same stones, and looking for light in the same shadows. Maybe, like me, you’ve felt that ache of distance from God. Maybe you’re wondering how to keep going when the fire of faith feels more like a flickering ember. Let’s unpack this together, leaning on Ignatius’s wisdom, and see where it takes us.
When I first noticed myself slipping—skipping the gym, mumbling through prayers—I wanted to hide. My gut reaction was shame. I’m failing again, I thought. Where’s God in this? It’s a lonely place to be, isn’t it? That moment when the things that once lifted your spirit—exercise, prayer, a sense of purpose—suddenly feel like burdens. Ignatius describes this as spiritual desolation: a state where we can’t sense God’s presence, where confusion or doubt creeps in, and where we might even question His mercy. For me, it was less about despair and more about a quiet drift—a numbness that made me wonder if I’d lost my way.
But here’s where Ignatius’s teaching stopped me in my tracks. He says these moments aren’t a sign of God abandoning us. Instead, they’re a kind of spiritual gym—God’s way of helping us build our “muscles” of trust and resilience. I love that image. It’s not punishment; it’s training. And the more I reflected on it, the more I saw something hopeful: I’m recognising these struggles faster than I used to. A year ago, I might’ve wallowed in that desolation for weeks, beating myself up or overthinking every misstep. Now? I feel the urge to shake it off, to keep moving forward with my day—washing the dishes, walking the dog, trusting that Jesus has my back even when I can’t feel Him there.
St. Ignatius, in his Spiritual Exercises, talks about two interior states we all experience: consolation and desolation. They’re like the ebb and flow of the tide, each serving a purpose in our spiritual lives. Consolation is that sweet spot—those moments when everything clicks. You feel peace, clarity, a closeness to God that makes your heart sing. For me, it’s been those mornings when the gym feels like a joy, or when praying the Divine Mercy fills me with warmth and purpose. Scripture echoes this in John 16:33, where Jesus says, “In me you may have peace.” That’s consolation—God drawing us near, even when life’s messy.
Desolation, though, is the flip side. It’s the fog, the disconnect, the times when doubts whisper louder than faith. Ignatius says it’s marked by confusion, anxiety, or a pull away from holiness. St. Augustine, too, saw these dry spells as God’s way of strengthening us—testing our trust when the feelings fade. I used to think desolation meant I’d done something wrong, that I’d somehow pushed God away. But Ignatius flips that script. He says it’s not about failure—it’s about learning to stand firm, to choose faith even when the ground feels shaky.
So how do we navigate this? Ignatius gives us a roadmap in his “Rules for Discernment of Spirits.” It’s a fancy name, but really, it’s about paying attention to what’s stirring inside us. Are our thoughts leading us toward God or away from Him? For me, that moment of wanting to skip prayer wasn’t just laziness—it was a nudge to notice where my heart was at. The trick, I’m learning, is not to overthink it. When I catch myself in desolation, I don’t need to dissect every feeling or drown in guilt. Ignatius encourages us to keep going—to stick to our routines, to trust God’s got us, even if we’re not feeling the fireworks of consolation.
I wonder, have you ever felt this tug-of-war in your own life? Maybe it’s not the gym or prayer for you—maybe it’s something else that’s lost its spark. What do you do when the heaviness hits? I’m finding that acknowledging it, without letting it define me, is a small but mighty step. It’s saying, Okay, I’m in desolation, but I’m not alone here. Jesus is still with me, even if I can’t sense Him right now.
Here’s what I’m holding onto: this isn’t the end of the story. Desolation isn’t a dead-end street—it’s part of the journey. And the fact that I’m noticing it, wrestling with it, means I’m growing. That’s the hope I want to leave you with. You don’t have to have it all together. Faith isn’t about always feeling on top of the world—it’s about trusting through the lows, leaning into God’s strength when ours runs dry. As Philippians 4:13 reminds us, “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Even this.
If this resonates with you, I’d love for you to dig deeper into St. Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises. It’s not always an easy read, but it’s a goldmine for anyone wanting to understand the ups and downs of faith.
A great place to start is The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius itself—look for a modern translation like Louis J. Puhl’s, which keeps it clear and approachable. Another gem is The Discernment of Spirits by Timothy M. Gallagher—he breaks down Ignatius’s rules in a way that’s practical and real. You could also check out online resources like the Jesuit website (jesuit.org.au) or the “Pray As You Go” app, which weaves Ignatian spirituality into daily reflections. These have been lifelines for me, and they might be for you too.
So here I am, 24 hours later, still a work in progress. The gym’s still calling, the prayers are still a bit quiet, but I’m not beating myself up over it. I’m learning to see desolation as a teacher, not a tyrant. And I’m trusting—slowly, messily—that God’s not done with me yet. Wherever you’re at, I hope you can find that same grace for yourself. Let’s keep walking this faith journey together, one step at a time, knowing that even in the shadows, we’re never truly alone.
What about you? How do you hold onto faith when the feelings fade? Join our "Understanding Faith" community by signing up for the newsletter. Let’s grow in this together.
